He’d forgotten the good things, the gentle things. He’d grown used to his loneliness, his pain. Try and catch him.Īt first, he didn’t know what that touch meant. All I had to do was reach out my hand to him. Life had dealt him a bad hand, had dragged him down until he hit rock bottom, but he was still in there, inside that hard shell. Maybe not everyone deserves to be saved, I don’t know. I glimpsed beneath the sorrow and fury a flash of kindness, of protectiveness and goodness that brought me to my knees. If he managed to move through the memories to the other side-where life still went on, same as before, where leaves fell, babies cried, people smiled and made new memories. Had to remember he still had them, that his own mind had clipped them and could restore them. I longed to free him, but I couldn’t give him wings. He was a beast, but reminded me more of a bird in a cage, with his wings clipped. Like a strange spell, they kept him raging and smashing against his own walls, with no way out. They blinded him, deafened him, isolated him from the world he lived in. His memories were like thick sludge, like blood, dragging us both down. It was a long trek through his walls and defenses, slogging through the memories that had turned him into a beast. Locked up inside himself, curled in the darkness, he fed on his own pain and slept through his days. A bear of a man greeted me, then pushed me away.
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